@DepressedSoviet I mean, arguably, he could just do stuff alongside everyone else as if he'd been there the whole time, only very quiet about it. Just a thought.
BCTheEntity
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STATUS: Harambant, who once went by Harambe, now only recalled in light of what followed. 4 days ago
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Harambant, who once went by Harambe, now only recalled in light of what followed.
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RAIN OF SPIDERS (SPIDERS spiders)
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It seems today, that all you see,
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Bio
Hello, I am me from the internet. I migrated here from Kongregate's Forum Games Forum, so feel free to look for me there if you wish to follow a career in internet stalking people. (ಠ_ಠ) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
A link to some of my past characters, which I need because static tabs do not take up internet.
“I really don’t follow how your faith believes its perfectly acceptable to doom 4,000 years plus of sentient beings, on a pre-set path of no escape from sin, just so their descendants can be offered the ‘chance of salvation’ when the god murders its own son.”
~vikaTae
“Don’t be an ass or a pussy, ’lest you get screwed by life. Being a mouth or a hand is somewhat safer, and an eye socket is pretty much sacred in this regard, so always keep a look out.”
~BCLEGENDS
A link to some of my past characters, which I need because static tabs do not take up internet.
Infamous Quotes From People Who Exist
“I really don’t follow how your faith believes its perfectly acceptable to doom 4,000 years plus of sentient beings, on a pre-set path of no escape from sin, just so their descendants can be offered the ‘chance of salvation’ when the god murders its own son.”
~vikaTae
“Don’t be an ass or a pussy, ’lest you get screwed by life. Being a mouth or a hand is somewhat safer, and an eye socket is pretty much sacred in this regard, so always keep a look out.”
~BCLEGENDS
Most Recent Posts
In
The Blackshirts of Borovia - An Industrial Era RP of Crushing the Revolution
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7 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
'Very impressive,' Nuva allowed, nodding at the display of invisibility. 'I see you possess the capacity to create, or at least acquire magical artifacts. The Necklace of Regret is not exactly what I'm looking for, however. It's in a similar field, however.' And now, he wondered, how to word the next part of the transaction, so as to not make himself seem... well, he supposed there were humans who reached the sort of height a Skayleigh could. So maybe...
'You see, not many humans reach my particular height and build, which would make such a human quite distinctive if he was trying to avoid notice. That said, I'm sure you can guess that there are not many people with large chunks of metal attached to their arms either, but I'll get to that in a moment. On the other hand, whilst they rarely travel outside their homelands, the average Skayleigh regularly reaches such a size as a result of being half-giant.' No specific allusions to race, if the man listened carefully, but the implication that Nuva was simply a very tall and broad human ought to be taken nonetheless.
'So, what I'd like- perhaps not right now, but at some point in the future- is this: ideally a ring, but most forms of wearable accessory should suffice, that will cast an illusion over me, to disguise me as an average Skayleigh in my entirety, right down to the colour of my eyes.' Subtle coverage of a possible glamour failure there - no Skayleigh had glowing gold or silver eyes, after all.
'If possible, that illusion ought to also disguise my... weapon arm,' Nuva compromised, not willing to specifically claim "disfigurement" as a legitimate description of it. 'Perhaps to simply make the entire thing vanish, as if the arm was cut off at the elbow long ago? Though that might make it somewhat difficult to keep in check, come to think of it... if I could be allowed to see my own arm through the illusion, that'd be quite helpful. And if you have a better suggestion, I'd like to hear it.
'Having said that, I understand such an object might take time to create. I also understand that it might be... somewhat out of my present price range. I can likely gather the appropriate amount in due course, considering my circumstances, but just in case, I'd like to ask what the price bracket for such an item would be.' This would be the dangerous part - he might well just be driven out if he didn't have the funds, and it was hardly his place to argue the point as the would-be customer. And if that was so, he'd probably need to keep looking, and indeed might do so regardless, just in case he found a less pricey option.
'You see, not many humans reach my particular height and build, which would make such a human quite distinctive if he was trying to avoid notice. That said, I'm sure you can guess that there are not many people with large chunks of metal attached to their arms either, but I'll get to that in a moment. On the other hand, whilst they rarely travel outside their homelands, the average Skayleigh regularly reaches such a size as a result of being half-giant.' No specific allusions to race, if the man listened carefully, but the implication that Nuva was simply a very tall and broad human ought to be taken nonetheless.
'So, what I'd like- perhaps not right now, but at some point in the future- is this: ideally a ring, but most forms of wearable accessory should suffice, that will cast an illusion over me, to disguise me as an average Skayleigh in my entirety, right down to the colour of my eyes.' Subtle coverage of a possible glamour failure there - no Skayleigh had glowing gold or silver eyes, after all.
'If possible, that illusion ought to also disguise my... weapon arm,' Nuva compromised, not willing to specifically claim "disfigurement" as a legitimate description of it. 'Perhaps to simply make the entire thing vanish, as if the arm was cut off at the elbow long ago? Though that might make it somewhat difficult to keep in check, come to think of it... if I could be allowed to see my own arm through the illusion, that'd be quite helpful. And if you have a better suggestion, I'd like to hear it.
'Having said that, I understand such an object might take time to create. I also understand that it might be... somewhat out of my present price range. I can likely gather the appropriate amount in due course, considering my circumstances, but just in case, I'd like to ask what the price bracket for such an item would be.' This would be the dangerous part - he might well just be driven out if he didn't have the funds, and it was hardly his place to argue the point as the would-be customer. And if that was so, he'd probably need to keep looking, and indeed might do so regardless, just in case he found a less pricey option.
@Tangletail Yeah, that's not going to be what Nuva's even vaguely interested in. There's something specific he has in mind.
@agentmanatee My boy T-Lukey don't take no chances against no crazy red-armoured maniacs, whether or not he knows their allegiances. Besides, those two squadmates are both down right now. They ain't got shit, bitch.
(He's also rather arrogant, for the record. Pragmatic enough to believe he has a chance to defeat a foe such as Azazel quickly, but yeah, ever so arrogant and prideful.)
(He's also rather arrogant, for the record. Pragmatic enough to believe he has a chance to defeat a foe such as Azazel quickly, but yeah, ever so arrogant and prideful.)
Well, if he thought what had happened to himself was awful... finally drawn to actually pay attention to it by its bleating for his attention, he saw the dark shape for what it was, a fellow 31st Millenium Dark Angel it seemed, but in such a state of disrepair that he could barely talk. And "disrepair" wasn't a bad term for it, either, considering the servo-arms and symbol that marked him as a definite member of the Mechanicus of their shared time, noted as Lucius approached and knelt down beside him. He was already judging whether he might be able to repurpose the armour to fit the plugs in his own Black Carapace- was that Artificer? It seemed reasonable to assume it was- as the man removed his helmet, revealing a surprisingly youthful face, one pale from an unusual amount of lost blood, and traumatised by some recent revelation.
Ah. Of course. He hadn't realised Chaos' machinations yet, hadn't seen that their passage through the fabric of space-time had inexorably corrupted them both, up until this moment. And from the sound of it, hadn't been subjected to the same torment Lucius had. Was that so for every other Dark Angel who had been flung into the warp rift that day as Caliban destroyed itself beneath their feet? Was Lucius himself, dare he suggest it, unique in that regard? And if so, why had he been singled out for such torture so personally?
And only now did another flash of memory return to him. No moment of his final battle was this, though; the fragment he received from whatever held his mind hostage was assuredly a more sociable time, a welcoming into that day's firing rounds of a brother in arms, a Techmarine with a familiar face.
And a name.
When he came to from that, he realised the man on the ground before him had raised his bolter- he still had his weapons, then- aiming it at the red-armoured Marine, splattered with gore and bearing an unfamiliar symbol on his pauldron. Did he recognise it? In a way, it was much like the banner of the Imperial Fists... but far be it for him to care overmuch about whatever Legion he came from, for now he was being targeted by his brother Marine. Lucius felt he should probably stop him. Him. The man called...
'Xephe-'
A loud CRACK rather surprised Lucius, knocking Xepherial to the ground. The impact point had bled heavily before clotting, and the force of the blow had surely... not killed, but probably brought him that many steps closer to death's door. And of course it was an Ork who had delivered the strike, because why on Terra wouldn't it be? That explained the green flash he'd seen earlier, at least.
With an unruly sigh, Lucius got up and, with his sword as a walking stick of sorts, paced unsteadily over to the nearest tube, examining the black substance or organism or whatever was contained in it in little detail, at the same time coming up with the most scathing insult he could think of. Eventually, he began to turn back around, uttering 'Why would you do that, you stupid, thick-headed, Wolfoid creature,' before he realised that the Ork too had fallen unconscious. Of course he had. He didn't know Orks could even fall unconscious, and it annoyed him that now he'd not be able to chew the thing out. 'Why do- why bother? Why do I bother?' he continued, turning back to the tube and resting his forehead against it.
'Why in the WARP! Do I BOTHER?!' he yelled, slamming his fist against the glass as hard as he dared to avoid breaking it, and this was certainly a rare sensation nowadays - legitimate anger and fury, quite unlike his usual malaise, which even now was settling back in, drowning him in tar-like apathy once more, and reminding him that he was in fact injured himself, quite severely in fact, and shouldn't be exerting himself overmuch. Again he turned back to the room, examining who was still upright and sane - Ga'duk, obviously; the newcomer, who he figured he might as well talk to; the other Space Marine, the Emperor's Child, perhaps the only one he could actually discuss matters with at this time; and his own... wait, no, he had curled up in a strop.
'What's your problem?' Lucius asked as he passed the wimp, who was still crying, really? He worshipped things he couldn't grasp, and a little bit of combat had him terrified like this? The hypocritical worm wasn't even injured, bastard that he was.
'I-I-I-I c-can't feel it, m-my l-lord...' the worm whispered.
'Hm?'
'Th-th-the W-w-w-w-... Wuh-wuh... m-m-my p-powers...'
Oh. Ohhh, that might be what that black substance was, then: anti-psychic material, however it had come into being, cutting off the connection to the Warp of any psyker who entered, including the telepath who called himself Lucius' loyal servant. And, if he paid attention, perhaps the cyborg quivering in the corner too, though how that might be he couldn't say. 'Best you don't discuss that with anyone else in the room,' Lucius offered, only to walk off uncaring of the cultist's plight.
And now came the actual objective. The narthecium identified the unfamiliar Space Marine as an Apothecary, though the appearance of the device, and indeed of the man's very armour, was quite clearly different to the latest models that had been available at the time of Caliban's destruction. Better? Perhaps. He'd need to figure that out, but since he'd already been told to fix Xepherial and the Ork... and he'd shown clear hostility toward this "corpse-god"... which was what, exactly? Surely it couldn't refer to the Emperor of Mankind himself... but going by his Dark Angel brother's reaction to the term, there was surely some connection between the two, so maybe... either way, best to be safe on this one.
'Okay, my good man,' Lucius started quietly but bluntly, clapping the armoured man's shoulder with his free hand in a manner that was obviously not overly friendly. 'You've been tasked with fixing up the black-armoured Marine, as well as the Ork. I believe I would like to be your third patient today after them. Only, I need to tell you this now, but if you put so much as one gene in one cell out of place, in myself or my brother-Marine, I will personally tear your skull open and rip out your brain. Sus-an Membrane first.'
Threat delivered, and in a manner that was all but devoid of emotion so as to convey the fullness of his intent if the Apothecary didn't comply, Lucius stepped away, heading to... ugh, he didn't even know who. Ga'duk wasn't a stimulating conversationalist, and his minion was a little bit out of touch to consider lording over right now. Likewise the Tech-priest in the corner and the Apothecary's gore-covered allied... he supposed the last Space Marine in the room, then, the one who had apparently opened and closed the door in the first place. Whatever his name was. He might be interesting to talk to whilst he waited for his treatment, anyway... perhaps he should watch over Xepherial whilst the red-armoured Marine did his job, but he didn't care quite that much. The threat could be delivered on whenever he felt it appropriate, at any rate.
@Jbcool@Klomster@Necroes@Wraithblade6@Sophrus@agentmanatee
Ah. Of course. He hadn't realised Chaos' machinations yet, hadn't seen that their passage through the fabric of space-time had inexorably corrupted them both, up until this moment. And from the sound of it, hadn't been subjected to the same torment Lucius had. Was that so for every other Dark Angel who had been flung into the warp rift that day as Caliban destroyed itself beneath their feet? Was Lucius himself, dare he suggest it, unique in that regard? And if so, why had he been singled out for such torture so personally?
And only now did another flash of memory return to him. No moment of his final battle was this, though; the fragment he received from whatever held his mind hostage was assuredly a more sociable time, a welcoming into that day's firing rounds of a brother in arms, a Techmarine with a familiar face.
And a name.
When he came to from that, he realised the man on the ground before him had raised his bolter- he still had his weapons, then- aiming it at the red-armoured Marine, splattered with gore and bearing an unfamiliar symbol on his pauldron. Did he recognise it? In a way, it was much like the banner of the Imperial Fists... but far be it for him to care overmuch about whatever Legion he came from, for now he was being targeted by his brother Marine. Lucius felt he should probably stop him. Him. The man called...
'Xephe-'
A loud CRACK rather surprised Lucius, knocking Xepherial to the ground. The impact point had bled heavily before clotting, and the force of the blow had surely... not killed, but probably brought him that many steps closer to death's door. And of course it was an Ork who had delivered the strike, because why on Terra wouldn't it be? That explained the green flash he'd seen earlier, at least.
With an unruly sigh, Lucius got up and, with his sword as a walking stick of sorts, paced unsteadily over to the nearest tube, examining the black substance or organism or whatever was contained in it in little detail, at the same time coming up with the most scathing insult he could think of. Eventually, he began to turn back around, uttering 'Why would you do that, you stupid, thick-headed, Wolfoid creature,' before he realised that the Ork too had fallen unconscious. Of course he had. He didn't know Orks could even fall unconscious, and it annoyed him that now he'd not be able to chew the thing out. 'Why do- why bother? Why do I bother?' he continued, turning back to the tube and resting his forehead against it.
'Why in the WARP! Do I BOTHER?!' he yelled, slamming his fist against the glass as hard as he dared to avoid breaking it, and this was certainly a rare sensation nowadays - legitimate anger and fury, quite unlike his usual malaise, which even now was settling back in, drowning him in tar-like apathy once more, and reminding him that he was in fact injured himself, quite severely in fact, and shouldn't be exerting himself overmuch. Again he turned back to the room, examining who was still upright and sane - Ga'duk, obviously; the newcomer, who he figured he might as well talk to; the other Space Marine, the Emperor's Child, perhaps the only one he could actually discuss matters with at this time; and his own... wait, no, he had curled up in a strop.
'What's your problem?' Lucius asked as he passed the wimp, who was still crying, really? He worshipped things he couldn't grasp, and a little bit of combat had him terrified like this? The hypocritical worm wasn't even injured, bastard that he was.
'I-I-I-I c-can't feel it, m-my l-lord...' the worm whispered.
'Hm?'
'Th-th-the W-w-w-w-... Wuh-wuh... m-m-my p-powers...'
Oh. Ohhh, that might be what that black substance was, then: anti-psychic material, however it had come into being, cutting off the connection to the Warp of any psyker who entered, including the telepath who called himself Lucius' loyal servant. And, if he paid attention, perhaps the cyborg quivering in the corner too, though how that might be he couldn't say. 'Best you don't discuss that with anyone else in the room,' Lucius offered, only to walk off uncaring of the cultist's plight.
And now came the actual objective. The narthecium identified the unfamiliar Space Marine as an Apothecary, though the appearance of the device, and indeed of the man's very armour, was quite clearly different to the latest models that had been available at the time of Caliban's destruction. Better? Perhaps. He'd need to figure that out, but since he'd already been told to fix Xepherial and the Ork... and he'd shown clear hostility toward this "corpse-god"... which was what, exactly? Surely it couldn't refer to the Emperor of Mankind himself... but going by his Dark Angel brother's reaction to the term, there was surely some connection between the two, so maybe... either way, best to be safe on this one.
'Okay, my good man,' Lucius started quietly but bluntly, clapping the armoured man's shoulder with his free hand in a manner that was obviously not overly friendly. 'You've been tasked with fixing up the black-armoured Marine, as well as the Ork. I believe I would like to be your third patient today after them. Only, I need to tell you this now, but if you put so much as one gene in one cell out of place, in myself or my brother-Marine, I will personally tear your skull open and rip out your brain. Sus-an Membrane first.'
Threat delivered, and in a manner that was all but devoid of emotion so as to convey the fullness of his intent if the Apothecary didn't comply, Lucius stepped away, heading to... ugh, he didn't even know who. Ga'duk wasn't a stimulating conversationalist, and his minion was a little bit out of touch to consider lording over right now. Likewise the Tech-priest in the corner and the Apothecary's gore-covered allied... he supposed the last Space Marine in the room, then, the one who had apparently opened and closed the door in the first place. Whatever his name was. He might be interesting to talk to whilst he waited for his treatment, anyway... perhaps he should watch over Xepherial whilst the red-armoured Marine did his job, but he didn't care quite that much. The threat could be delivered on whenever he felt it appropriate, at any rate.
@Jbcool@Klomster@Necroes@Wraithblade6@Sophrus@agentmanatee
Speaking of anticipation, I figure it's probably my turn to post at this stage? Or close enough that I could reasonably get on with that without complaint, so I guess expect a Lucius post today.
Minor Confusion
Motley nodded, his curiosity about as satisfied as it could be. And he was certainly the smith had pointed out that the spike was what drained the soul, rather than the hole; otherwise he might well have believed the opposite was true, essentially forfeiting the tournament over a stupid mistake. Then again, that could be wrong... but, in this case, he felt the man knew what he was talking about.
'Well, I thank you for your exposition, sir,' he uttered as he put the phylactery back where it belonged, only to gaze somewhat curiously at the smith as he recalled what the man had said... had he ever actually admitted outright to being a murderer himself? He was quite sure he hadn't, and pointed out as much to the smith. 'Not,' he added to that, 'that you're necessarily wrong, either... but, much as it may seem otherwise, I tend to avoid killing those who don't deserve it. I imagine most people in this tournament wouldn't deserve it, whether or not their souls are forfeit if they lose.
'Besides, you're quite one to talk,' he continued, gesturing to the man's half-polished sword. 'I'd argue turning another being's soul into a weapon involves at least a little murder, if not on the crafter's part. Or am I wrong, and your fresh-forged blade is in fact free of captured souls and associated mystical abilities?' He didn't exactly intend to sound standoffish- in fact, if he thought about it, the matter really didn't concern him at all- but it did rile him a little that somebody would gladly work with the fruits of that most ubiquitous of worldly acts, only to shy away from those who reaped the raw materials in the first place. It smacked of hypocrisy to him, which wasn't bothersome on its own, but had been made somewhat personal by the smith associating Motley with the latter activity by default.
And, in fairness, he was curious about what the sword actually did. Those runes probably weren't just for show, after all... perhaps his subtle suggestion would drive the smith to demonstrate the powers of the blade in question, if he was lucky. Or, as the case may be, unlucky, should they be used on him instead.
@Raineh Daze The clones do take damage. Did you think they don't take damage? And the listed techniques are a logical extension of what's involved in creating clones in that fashion; it's hardly tailor-made to act like that.
That said, I think I've misjudged what's desired for this RP, so I'm going to go ahead and remove myself from it. Thanks to those who supplied their opinions anyway.
That said, I think I've misjudged what's desired for this RP, so I'm going to go ahead and remove myself from it. Thanks to those who supplied their opinions anyway.
@Pandapaw23 That's a fair enough assessment. I will say that even a fighting series does sometimes have large exposition dumps... though in this case, it's really just me making sure every base is covered, so that everyone is clear on what Seirei can do, and failing to be concise in the process.
I'm not going to lie, though, folks. One of my primary concerns was with whether the power is too strong or not, at least compared to the abilities displayed by other characters so far. If I could get some opinions on that, I'd greatly appreciate it.
I'm not going to lie, though, folks. One of my primary concerns was with whether the power is too strong or not, at least compared to the abilities displayed by other characters so far. If I could get some opinions on that, I'd greatly appreciate it.
In
The Blackshirts of Borovia - An Industrial Era RP of Crushing the Revolution
→
7 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
If Pyotr had heard Josef mention communism, he'd likely have had a few words to say on the topic of the Bolsheviks, none of them good. As it was, he was none the wiser as he met up with the rest of the crew at the front of the building, happy as ever. Riding what his thing, so he often claimed, and he found it hard to imagine a better time than riding full-speed on the back of a sturdy steed. Maybe fucking a nubile and eager lady, of course, as many men might agree, but it'd be a very close second, if that.
'I know I am!' he called, having heard Josef yell over at Servác. Nice guy. That said, he trotted Varvara over to stand by Karl, glancing down at the tall German with a grin on his face. It was funny, really - you could be as tall as you wanted, and yet a man on a horse would still tower over you. 'So Karl,' he uttered, 'are you ready to keep these silly peasants in line? Varvara has been cooped up for very long, so she is extremely eager to stomp them under her hooves! Maybe. She is a horse, so perhaps yes, perhaps no.'
'I know I am!' he called, having heard Josef yell over at Servác. Nice guy. That said, he trotted Varvara over to stand by Karl, glancing down at the tall German with a grin on his face. It was funny, really - you could be as tall as you wanted, and yet a man on a horse would still tower over you. 'So Karl,' he uttered, 'are you ready to keep these silly peasants in line? Varvara has been cooped up for very long, so she is extremely eager to stomp them under her hooves! Maybe. She is a horse, so perhaps yes, perhaps no.'
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