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Mmm, I like it. Has a rather steampunk/Dishonored feel to it. Would love to hear more about this.
As Croft yanked Gatling up to his feet, McCoy groaned upon impact, getting picking up his beloved SAW that was beside him, mentally kicking himself thinking it was his grenade launcher. He turned to Croft, clutching tightly to his squad automatic weapon, looking it over as he ordered, his tone strained as he continued fighting through the pain, "Let's take a rest for a second, I need to check to see what happened." When Croft set him down, he grunted out his thanks before turning his attention to the malfunctioned weapon. Upon close inspection McCoy could see the problem, immediately setting to work on it as he grumbled slightly under his breathe about needing morphine.
He could feel Croft's stare on him, most likely wondering how the hell he's still up with all those burns burning in his side as McCoy told him bluntly as possible, having taken out the clip to jam the cock of the gun back in place, "I come from Reach, born from the sack of a drill sergeant who on the day of his death killed a Guta with a bowie knife after having serviced two tours against the Innies, and when straight out the pussy of a medic who was known to even perform shots, dig out bullets, and doctor up herself. Trust me," He continues explaining vulgarly, knowing full well his language was vulgar as hell, but hey, cussing helps lessen the pain, "I'm not going to die just because some covie got lucky." He slapped his clip back in, cocking his gun ready as he slowly stood up while groaning heavily, growling out as he limped toward Croft, "Now get me some goddam morphine or pain killers."
He could feel Croft's stare on him, most likely wondering how the hell he's still up with all those burns burning in his side as McCoy told him bluntly as possible, having taken out the clip to jam the cock of the gun back in place, "I come from Reach, born from the sack of a drill sergeant who on the day of his death killed a Guta with a bowie knife after having serviced two tours against the Innies, and when straight out the pussy of a medic who was known to even perform shots, dig out bullets, and doctor up herself. Trust me," He continues explaining vulgarly, knowing full well his language was vulgar as hell, but hey, cussing helps lessen the pain, "I'm not going to die just because some covie got lucky." He slapped his clip back in, cocking his gun ready as he slowly stood up while groaning heavily, growling out as he limped toward Croft, "Now get me some goddam morphine or pain killers."
McCoy moaned and groaned in pain as he felt the holt bolts of plasma burn at his sides, tears running freely as he panted heavily. His heart pounded heavily against his chest so hard that the ruined plates among his destroyed armor could be seen slightly vibrating among his exposed chest. The top of his helmet was now exposing the top of his head, showing off his mohawk as well as a few burns here and there. Darkness fogged his vision as he stirred to a sitting position, firing of both plasma, and bullets drumming his ears. He looked over to the closest to him, which just so happen to be Anders. He smiled weakly, coughing a bit before cupping it with his mouth.
Suddenly his smile disappeared when his vision came to him, looking around as the situation came clear to him. His eyes darkened behind his skull visor, looking over at the covies that would be his targets. Adrenaline pumped furiously through his veins, his blood coursing, demanding for their own blood coating the pavement of this former city-now-graveyard they created. He looked down at himself, groaning as he shifted himself up, responding in case Jace heard him, "I'll live just give me a minute before I bring the SAW out on these bastards." He looked over at his red flesh by the bits of missing armor on himself before seeing pulling out his flare gun, seeing that his beloved weapon was not beside him, only his M319. As he crouched beside Anders, pain shooting his body as he was shaking to fight through it, he saw the approaching Zealot coming towards the duo of the burnt car. He could see Tenjer and Anders both firing at the shields of the approaching warrior, it's shield flaring out just when both the other Elites fired them both back into cover. Gatling smirked, holding the flare gun with both hands to steady his would be aim at the fucking thing that nearly killed him.
"You're the one who threw the grenade huh? Well Split-Jaw," He mumbled to himself, still glaring at the monster as it approached. "I'll make sure Ready has a new shoulder pad!" He yelled, red flooding his vision as he quickly aimed the flare gun at the alien, firing the round straight toward it's head. It hit it's mark, hitting the monster straight in the eye as it began roaring in pain. Gatling smirked before cursing as he ducked back behind cover, panting as he grabbed his grenade launcher that was beside him, popping in a smoke round into the chamber as he looked over at Jace, suggesting, "I got an idea. I'll pop a smoke round over at them, and once the fog rolls in, you carry my big-ass back over to the rest of the guys. That sound like a plan Anders?"
Suddenly his smile disappeared when his vision came to him, looking around as the situation came clear to him. His eyes darkened behind his skull visor, looking over at the covies that would be his targets. Adrenaline pumped furiously through his veins, his blood coursing, demanding for their own blood coating the pavement of this former city-now-graveyard they created. He looked down at himself, groaning as he shifted himself up, responding in case Jace heard him, "I'll live just give me a minute before I bring the SAW out on these bastards." He looked over at his red flesh by the bits of missing armor on himself before seeing pulling out his flare gun, seeing that his beloved weapon was not beside him, only his M319. As he crouched beside Anders, pain shooting his body as he was shaking to fight through it, he saw the approaching Zealot coming towards the duo of the burnt car. He could see Tenjer and Anders both firing at the shields of the approaching warrior, it's shield flaring out just when both the other Elites fired them both back into cover. Gatling smirked, holding the flare gun with both hands to steady his would be aim at the fucking thing that nearly killed him.
"You're the one who threw the grenade huh? Well Split-Jaw," He mumbled to himself, still glaring at the monster as it approached. "I'll make sure Ready has a new shoulder pad!" He yelled, red flooding his vision as he quickly aimed the flare gun at the alien, firing the round straight toward it's head. It hit it's mark, hitting the monster straight in the eye as it began roaring in pain. Gatling smirked before cursing as he ducked back behind cover, panting as he grabbed his grenade launcher that was beside him, popping in a smoke round into the chamber as he looked over at Jace, suggesting, "I got an idea. I'll pop a smoke round over at them, and once the fog rolls in, you carry my big-ass back over to the rest of the guys. That sound like a plan Anders?"
Magic Magnum said
You had lost your arm, in a post made not even 5 minutes before you re-joined the RP.So our amazing GM went back and edited it just a burn. :P
How ironic I just returned from the hospital before coming back to this roleplay...
Guess I'll post something then :P
So! Should I get a recap on what's going on, or just read from the IC?
Hey back guys! Sorry about that, cousin went through a divorce, then my mom's shine bone popped out of place, and all that glorious mess. Anyway, back to roleplaying. And wait, I nearly lost my arm!?
Name: Baluk gro-Shaw
Alias: Baluk
Age: 67
Birth Place: Chorrol ,Cryodiil
Birth Sign: The Warrior
Race: Orsimer
Class: Knight
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Marital Status: Single
Properties: Small homestead in Rihad, Hammerfell
Affiliations: Former Blade, Former Legion solider, Champion of the Figher's Guild (Hammerfell)
Afflictions: None
Religion: The Nines
Family: Unknown
Personality
General: Baluk is a rather patient man, unlike most of his kinsmen, always slow and cautious when going into battle rather then jumping into the fray. Unfortunately due to this he is over-cautious of everyone he meets. He is also always serious, never once cracking a joke unless it was to insult someone, and getting quite short tempered with those who he views as petty jesters.
Positive Traits: Cautious, Never under estimates his oppoent, Serious, Honest, Friendly towards those who religious to the Nine, (to those who say the eight, friendiness is gone)
Negative Traits: Blunt, Unpredictable, Hard to read, Stoic, Extremely short fused around Dominion and Dreadic religious as well
Fears: Being weak
Quirks: He often looks and scouts out his fellow companions, trying to read and judge their intentions.
Appearance
Height: 7'8
Weight: 334lbs.
Build: Muscular
Hair Length: Mohawk with braids that reach shoulders
Hair Color: Dark brown
Facial Hair: Faint goattee
Eye Color: Left eye-White, Right eye-Red
Gear
Armor: Orcish armor w/helmet customizmed and reinforced with his old blade armor that was magical enhancement to resist magic better
Weapons: Ebony Greatsword, x4 Orcish war axes designed to be lighter so it can be thrown
Items: x4 Vigorious Healing Potions
Spells: None
History/Biography
(Will put up later and working back up on it since my laptop deleted it, and took me over 6,000 chars with this alone. Literally, I felt like crying since I been working on this for three days :'( )
Plan on writing on an Orc Bloodguard (guard of a jarl I read in an fanfic) as soon as I get a CS example Character from someone else's character.
Name: Charlie Boone
Age: 32
Race: Caucasian
Appearance:
Physical Description: Charlie stands at 6'3 with an average frame, yet of all muscle. His eyes are a greenish hazel.
Tattoos/Scars: A slightly diagonal scar runs around his left eye, and a tribal tattoo along his shoulder to elbow, along with being on his chest and shoulder blade.
Allegiance: Assassins
Role: Field Agent
Concealed Weapons: M-1911 (suppressed with extended clip), Butterfly Knife, Dual Hidden Blades that work as ballistic knives (optional)
Assault Weapons: PP-19 Bizon (suppressed, red dot sight, sling), x2 Tear gas smoke grenades
Day-to-Day Apparel: White wife-beater underneath dark grey and white hoodie, faded blue jeans, black/white converse with black fingerless gloves with built in brass around the knuckles
Assault Apparel: Black Kevlar tactical vest hidden under hoodie with pouches for extra clips, elbow and knee pads, skull design gas mask
Misc. Equipment: Paperclip gun with specially design lockpicks for specific types of locks
Biography: Charles was born in an orphanage with never knowing of his mother nor father, to the age of eight he was a rebel, never listening, breaking things, and getting in fight with the other children. To the age of sixteen he was adopted by a locksmith, who Charlie was raised and apprenticed by. Though with his wild streak, young Charlie commonly used his incredible lockpicking talents for the local gangs of New York, helping them break in and get out undeteced for robberies, break ins, and more. He joined up with one gang, commonly getting into fist fights, running from police using the environments. He was untouchable as far he was concerned. That was until one day when him and his gang decided to try and raid a Abstergo Industries armored truck. After setting a clever trap with a road block, the truck stopped, quickly being rammed by an abanndoned semi truck, young Charlie and his gang breaking into the armored truck and looking only to find sealed documents of some artifact. Quickly his gang was being attacked and killed off by some other gang, white hood and with suppressing weapons.
Charlie fled from the firefight, firing his M-1911 at one of them that was chasing him at the time, hitting his knee-cap and causing him to fall. Trying to lose them in the alley-way, Charlie tried using his local knowledge and agility to lose them, only to quickly realize they would easily catch up with him with shockingly better agility. Not one to give up, he continued making his way to the top of the building, quickly being surrounded. After which he pulled out his knife, realizing that he spent all his rounds in his pistol, deciding to have one last stand. After a brief fight in which two of the robe men had scratches along their bodies and faces, one of which was impaled in the thigh, one of their blades caught his eye, luckily just leaving a nice scar before knocking him out.
After waking up in a strange place, Charlie realized he was kidnapped. After an interrogation of where he was, and why he was kidnapped, he was shown a video about what Abstergo does to those who steal from them, he was offered protection within the creed, to which he accepted. Now after years of being within the creed, with realizing how direr the situation is over the years of working with the creed, Charlie's wild streak was gone and replaced with one of the most loyal, fastest, and handiest assassins in the creed.
(Let me know if too Mary/Gary Sue)
Age: 32
Race: Caucasian
Appearance:
Physical Description: Charlie stands at 6'3 with an average frame, yet of all muscle. His eyes are a greenish hazel.
Tattoos/Scars: A slightly diagonal scar runs around his left eye, and a tribal tattoo along his shoulder to elbow, along with being on his chest and shoulder blade.
Allegiance: Assassins
Role: Field Agent
Concealed Weapons: M-1911 (suppressed with extended clip), Butterfly Knife, Dual Hidden Blades that work as ballistic knives (optional)
Assault Weapons: PP-19 Bizon (suppressed, red dot sight, sling), x2 Tear gas smoke grenades
Day-to-Day Apparel: White wife-beater underneath dark grey and white hoodie, faded blue jeans, black/white converse with black fingerless gloves with built in brass around the knuckles
Assault Apparel: Black Kevlar tactical vest hidden under hoodie with pouches for extra clips, elbow and knee pads, skull design gas mask
Misc. Equipment: Paperclip gun with specially design lockpicks for specific types of locks
Biography: Charles was born in an orphanage with never knowing of his mother nor father, to the age of eight he was a rebel, never listening, breaking things, and getting in fight with the other children. To the age of sixteen he was adopted by a locksmith, who Charlie was raised and apprenticed by. Though with his wild streak, young Charlie commonly used his incredible lockpicking talents for the local gangs of New York, helping them break in and get out undeteced for robberies, break ins, and more. He joined up with one gang, commonly getting into fist fights, running from police using the environments. He was untouchable as far he was concerned. That was until one day when him and his gang decided to try and raid a Abstergo Industries armored truck. After setting a clever trap with a road block, the truck stopped, quickly being rammed by an abanndoned semi truck, young Charlie and his gang breaking into the armored truck and looking only to find sealed documents of some artifact. Quickly his gang was being attacked and killed off by some other gang, white hood and with suppressing weapons.
Charlie fled from the firefight, firing his M-1911 at one of them that was chasing him at the time, hitting his knee-cap and causing him to fall. Trying to lose them in the alley-way, Charlie tried using his local knowledge and agility to lose them, only to quickly realize they would easily catch up with him with shockingly better agility. Not one to give up, he continued making his way to the top of the building, quickly being surrounded. After which he pulled out his knife, realizing that he spent all his rounds in his pistol, deciding to have one last stand. After a brief fight in which two of the robe men had scratches along their bodies and faces, one of which was impaled in the thigh, one of their blades caught his eye, luckily just leaving a nice scar before knocking him out.
After waking up in a strange place, Charlie realized he was kidnapped. After an interrogation of where he was, and why he was kidnapped, he was shown a video about what Abstergo does to those who steal from them, he was offered protection within the creed, to which he accepted. Now after years of being within the creed, with realizing how direr the situation is over the years of working with the creed, Charlie's wild streak was gone and replaced with one of the most loyal, fastest, and handiest assassins in the creed.
(Let me know if too Mary/Gary Sue)
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