Recent Statuses

16 hrs ago
Current dude same
1 like
20 hrs ago
Why the fuck would I support some anarchist limp-dicks when I can help introduce neo-feudalism
3 days ago
These bards seducing dragons really don't expect the damage roll they're going to receive when they find out its a male dragon
5 days ago
Revisiting games I played a while back so I can justify apologism for the bad guys just so I can be a contrarian like them fucking "the empire did nothing wrong" star wars nerds
7 days ago
these mans just committed genocide on innocent bugs


If you enjoy my posts then consider pressing here to see my 1x1 interest check. Now listen to the tale of a man far from home longing to see its greens again.

About me:
Where do I begin. I'm from Belarus, and fairly proud of it. I've been RPing about a decade starting mostly with chat stuff and some LARPs/reenactments, doing the stuff of this site for maybe half a decade now. I'm a former serviceman, and while I was conscripted I make sure to stay in related circles. As a day job I'm a programmer letting me usually work from home even when we don't have coronavirus forcing us to do so and thus I got a lot of time for RP.

Look at me and marvel at... I'll think of it, give me a moment.

Anyway, adding shit

Russian and Belarusian (native speaker)
English and a Quebecois/Parisien mongrel French as others
doing my best to learn other interdasting ones

Most Recent Posts

Look! Gaze upon how he crawls through the body that used to be yours....

He sees.

He knows.

He lies....

It would now come to be clear that the two voices going through the boy's head were entirely different ones, the one of the strange Knight seemingly unaware of the whispered one.

As Brandon replied to the mystical man he laughed. Even though he was in the mind of the Lordling he somehow managed to very acutely get across the texture and timbre of the sound of a great amount of phlegm in the laughing throat — a throat that wasn't actually there.

"A threat! No not quite, not blackmail either but close to both. Its not for me I hope. If you don't listen to me you'll only make things harder for the world boy, not to speak of for yourself. What are you going to do dripping in your own blood and the complexion of a snowman? Politely tell dad that you're the same boy he loved and it'll all be okay? But no, I lie. I would hate to be stuck in this helmet for decades more until the right bugger walks by and hefts it on."

A noise emanated from the depths of the boy's consciousness that sounded like a hacking cough.

"I'll answer your questions while we ride, and if there's nothing more urgent to discuss. Better not try to ask me the meaning of life or what is love, though, or so help me I will use all the energies of this body for bale fire to roast your arsecheeks until you're a cinder or a puddle of goop, depending on your humours."

As the boy maanged to properly control the horse and the undead minions there was a sense of approval, almost as if there was a nod at Brandon neatly fitting into new abilities.

"No, I cannot hear your thoughts. Not quite yet, anyway. I can feel you thinking, I see the juices wriggling through your brain though it no longer needs them. I am still learning this body, and once I know its every pore and artery I will be able to see your thoughts. If it so happens you need to speak to me while keeping quiet you may simply mouth your words; I will fill in the sound for myself."

Then came a pause of several minutes as the being contemplated the answer to the young Unicorn's latest question. Indeed Brandon might speak in the intermediate time before the response came but would hear nothing until the fellow was ready.

"You may call me Lord. If that is too much for your sensibilities you may call me Sir Dietrich. Now then, where are we going exactly?"
As someone born in the 1960’s, I think my generation wrote more. I think we read more too. Now it is more Audiobooks and video clips. The attention span of young people has decreased.

I watch my kids and they have a hard time sitting and reading a book at 13. At that age I would have read 3-4 books. It is change and an exciting new challenge.

Ok boomer
Crashing into the next group of gunners it was only a few spins before they were a pile of dismembered bits. With that the remaining resistance in this part of the open street was rather thin, the few fighters remaining having mere flimsy iron weapons and an occasional stub weapon that wouldn’t even penetrate a Space Marine’s black carapace, let alone their power armour. However, though the enemy here was sparse Olympio knew he was alone and isolated here, and to try fight on solo was an exercise in baseless arrogance; easily a trait let swell by the prince of pleasure’s magics.

Closing the distance to once more return to the comfortable embrace of his Brother’s psychic aura was easy, only a few leaps crossing a great many metres until they were in his sight. As he moved in the message of Bieito came through the vox. Truth be told he was somewhat underwhelmed by the usage of vox instead of telepathic communication. The majority of Grey Knights had at least enough of the aptitude to communicate at the very least with their own squad using their Justicar as a means to help relay the information if needed.

“Noted.” he replied using his mind. The presence of daemons was certainly ominous. It seemed to redeem his foretellings, but that was nothing to be happy about given what it implied. “I am coming to reinforce.” he continued, stomping over. Though grouped up they would be far more vulnerable to heavy weapons of all sorts, it seemed for now the greater part of the eternal enemy’s rabble was culled and their firepower would now be all but negligible. Daemons would now be the main quarry if the report of Bieito was correct and in such a case a tight formation of blades would be optimal rather than the loose slaughter they had previously enacted.

Flourishing his sword, he for now kept between the Justicar and Bieito ready to support - or if needed fall back to - either of his comrades should the enemy try to strike them down one by one.

Checking his heads-up-display to correct his path, he started his march towards the destination of the squad. He had no interest in killing that which later the PDF could clean up when there was a foe more urgent to deal with, thus seeing no purpose in increasing his current kill-tally. For Brother Olympio there was only the objective, and he hoped that his Brothers would join him with haste.

Flavius Valerius Pontificus Augustus Maximus Vulpes Inculta Constantine Invictus Caesar

The Emperor was tired, and was thus walking towards his tent to rest. At many points he was offered the chance to sleep in an air-conditioned building or RV, but he declined all offers preferring the same rolled up canvas of his early service to the Legion.

There was a feint smile upon his face, that brought on by a productive day. The tendrils of the Frumentarii were spreading ever further and the homefront was getting ever more secure. The next day would be fruitful, and the night would be peaceful. Except, it wouldn’t for now. As Vulpes Inculta walked along with a few Praetorians about him his walk was interrupted by the approach of the governor of Colorado.

Vulpes sighed, knowing it was far too late to try to walk around the fellow. Frequently he had to make (admittedly idle) threats to the man for overstepping his bounds, but he was too useful of a man with his little charts and agendas in running his territory. Forcing himself not to sigh, Vulpes nodded to the man. “What is it, Lord Colorado.”

“Ah, my Beloved Emperor, how fortunate it is I came upon you.” the man said, in spite of fortune having played no part in this.

“What is it, Lord?” Vulpes asked impatiently.

“Denver my Lord. I really do think we should revisit the topic.”

“We have gone over this. Unless you have something new to add to the discussion the topic ends in the same way.” Vulpes walked on expecting the man to have nothing of the sort, but he was wrong.

“As a matter of fact my dear Emperor, I do. The cyberdogs? We’ve discovered their source.”

“Elaborate.” Vulpes demanded.

“I’ve ordered all the Frumentarii under my command to scour the city, and though many are now food for the feral hounds they found the sub-basement of a factory in the city to still be operational. How? They cannot determine, but whole batches of cybernetic dogs are released from there daily with no sign of ceasing or stagnation. They are more faster and stronger than ordinary mongrels we breed, they are more durable and are far more efficient with their feed. Where a spear would pierce it’s skull it would be blunted by hardened plastics, where a bullet would burst its innards it may well bounce off of steel. I understand in coming wars against the NCR and other advanced adversaries you wish to retire the use of these dogs. But think of how they may come to be brought upon tribals? But a pack of them would tear through whole villages in our way; indeed, many would have their valour crushed to simply see these monstrosities. Further, given we no longer need the ordinary hounds with our future use of the cyberdogs we will be able to freely use the ferals to feed our troops while they clean out the immediate area and bring the city to life.

“Why do we need the entire city then, Lord? Insofar as I can see we only need the one facility.” For all his capabilities as an administrator Lord Colorado was almost childishly jealous of the other States, and wanted a true capital for his territory.

“Because! If there is a facility operational from before the war in the sub-basement of that factory then what might other sub-basements harbour?”

“We both know that the factory working is a statistical improbability, I can all but guarantee you will not find more working factories yet automated.”

“Of course not my Lord, I have tempered my expectations!”

Doubtful, Vulpes thought, but he let the man finish his thought.

“Of course we won’t find working factories. But consider this, the sub-basements of the area seem well deep enough to not have been so viciously damaged by the ravages of the bombs and the local population of dogs - combined with the radiation of the area - have kept the area clean of scavengers and prospectors ever since nuclear hellfire scoured the Americas. Firearms, electronics, packaged foods, medicine, supplies of all sorts. It is a veritable treasure trove my lord, and if we can restart the production of the cyberdogs we can use them against their feral kind to clean out the city to pick it clean of what it has. Many buildings are in very good shape still and can later be repurposed for purpose ranging from industry to administration and clerical work.”

The desire of the Lord to have a true city under his domain was nauseating. However, his earlier points were at the very least fairly convincing in regards to sending an expedition to the locale. Though he probably shouldn’t have made such a decision at this time and under such conditions, he really was rather eager to get this over with. “Centurion Allarus is under your command. We will discuss the matter further in the morning, dismissed.”

Operating Squad "Venus"


A song started to play on the radio, and it was a fairly nice one. The Frumentarius removed the holotape before placing it in his pip-boy to let the piece start from the top. It really was groovy, even if his active-headset was inverting the noises somewhat.

“Found something, Sir?”

“Just a nice holotape.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

The Frumentarii exchanged laughter. The Poseidon building had been unfruitful, prospectors long since having picked anything immediately useful from it and they couldn’t find anything relating to Petro Chico as desired. But you know, the holotape made the time feel well spent nevertheless.

They had been up North for quite some time now, about a month ago having left the last areas where the Legion exercised formal control.

Ultimately their aim was to find a band of 80s appropriate to groom into leaders of the greater tribe such that a great force against the NCR may be formed. Alas, it seemed for the moment that they could not find any. Drunkards resting on their laurels were the best they came upon so far, and to be honest the leader of the Frumentarii group was rather disappointed. Perikles was starting to think that they were on a wild goose chase, to be frank. Of course it would be some time before he’d be ready to voice this to his Emperor in comminiques, but nevertheless it was at the forefront of his mind.

After a short lunch the Frumentarii packed up their gear and went towards the exit of the building they were in, until one whistled, making a motion for his comrades to follow to the window he was at. Smoke was being belched in the distance, and soon the sound of a great motor followed. It was a column of bikers moving very, very fast.

“These ones we haven’t seen.”

“Yeah, markings are different. Similar, but not identical.”

“Should we follow them.”

“Yes. Hurry.”

“Copy that.”
Walking along Badger nodded to the soldier who approached them. "Thanks for the heads up." He said, even if he wasn't particularly thankful. "Gotcha."

Following Bates close behind, Badger kept low in a semi-crouch. They were still close to what one could consider safety, but considering that every step brought the team further and further away from it he felt that a little bit of caution now would be justified, especially if later it would pave the ground for some aggression.

Though he hadn't been here before, Don knew this place was supposed to be loud. There was supposed to be the cheering of crowds and the snickering of bookies, there were supposed to be announcements and vendors making their rounds. But this ghost-town? Well... Though not exactly afraid, the Agent certainly was unnerved.

As there was blood on the door to the security room it seemed that the Agent's suspicions of this place being a rat's nest were getting more and more proofs. Nodding as Firefly prepared to breach the room Badger likewise pushed the imaginary foe within, but it turned out the place was uninhabited.

"I don't know." Agent Hayes replied to his partner's question, deciding to search the bodies of the police officers for anything of interest. "But I don't want to stick around for too long to end up just like these two pricks. Let's just make a quick note of this and move on. Time is short, and we need that fuel now."
I kind of want to know how Discord RPing works. Isn't there like a post limit? So, would it be similar to Habbo Hotel roleplay rooms (one-lines and/or one-sentences)?

Yes it's generally just one liners, although sometimes people will just split up their paragraph into smaller pieces so they can send it without the app getting upset
Burnout from RPs constantly dying makes people reluctant to start and join them, simple as. Why put the effort in making an entire world or person if you'll only get to do a post or two worth of stuff with them.
I'll be working on this tuesdayish

Valentin awoke, stretching and opening his eyes in one action, and cursing as the book about applying mathematical proofs to philosophical or other immediate situations that was on him fell to the floor. His phone was full of text messages, and as he read the locals news with his cereal he laughed. They really were a load of stupid buggers, from what he could read of the happenings at the university. He wondered what he'd tell his students about his almost suspiciously perfect disappearance from the scene. Well, that was Monday and it could wait.

He wondered momentarily if Operation Humanity would indeed go through with his suggested plan to capture the pup, but then ignored that too. The hunter had given more than enough help, and though he had one more plan to catch the beastie he really didn't like it and would only give it a go if the other plans failed. For now though, he had other work to enjoy. He would have to check up with Josef regarding the arson of the more powerful Witch family, but this morning he was to hunt an entirely different one more as sport. But it was also work, of course. Harvesting organs was how as a contractor he was able to maintain an impressive arsenal without the great funding of the Operation.

Finishing his breakfast the man went ti his basement, heaving aside a false wall ti reveal his armoury. It took him about ten minutes to suit up, but when he was done he looked in a way that younger warriors would have photographed and posted on instagram with tags like "tacticool". Armoured from head to toe, he had a set of thermal imagers mounted upon his helmet and magazines stuffed into pouches. Not a bit of skin was exposed, and his SIGMCX was covered in all sorts of pieces of tactical equipment upon picatinnies. That was far from all however as two pistols pistols silenced much like the .300 carbine were in armpit holsters. It was but a fraction of the list of things he brought along with himself on a hunt however, so Valentin went down said list to make sure all was present and the went to his car.

It wasn't a drive too long to the woods, Valentin making sure nobody was about to see this man that looked more like he belonged in a movie than a moderately sized American town. Having made some distance the man then looped around a few times, hiding by a trail. Several people passed along with groups, until he saw the correct one. He waited for them to pass and then the man emerged from behind the tree, stalking them from a short distance. He might have been about two metres in height but he was bloody quiet, even if he said so himself.

Deciding to not waste bullets on such filth, the Romanian removed his telescopic baton and struck it rather heavily upon the head of the eldest woman present, who from his observation and guessing was the most powerful of the group. Blood covered the weapon's metal and the woman went down. As the family turned to face him he aimed another swing at the athletic looking boy nearest him who collapsed in suit. The father drew a pistol which Valentin had no expected, but as the fellow fired the bullet harmlessly hit his plate carrier and was sent flying away. Before any more shots could be fired Valentin pulled on the man's hand to both get him to drop the weapon and lose balance to therefore fall.

The woman who Valentin identified as the warlock's wife and mother to the two youngers present sent a great ball of fire at him, and though it hurt the fire retardant anti-stab clothing covering the hunter insured only a few hairs were singed. Her he gave a kick, before once more striking the head of the disarmed warlock. He laughed as he heard the cry "Run!", tugging on the hoodie of the young girl heeding the command and pulling upon it to get her to fall. Once she was on the ground he stomped down, and it all went black for her. From then on it was just a few more strikes here and there and the family was motionless.

Wait. The boy was gone. Leaves were disturbed, and he couldn’t have gone far. Valeting roared in anger, running about in a few quick circles to see where the boy ran off to, but no avail. Until of course, the realization hit him. He had made himself invisible. Valentin could only chuckle, flicking on the thermal-imagers and then putting them on his eyes. He had to take only a few turns about until he located the cowering youth. The mist did mess with the goggles to some degree, but he was still able to make his way over to the lad after taking off the goggles pretending he couldn’t find him. He stood right by the tree that Valentin remembered his quarry was leaning against, and then shrugged, before violently lashing out with the baton to crack bones.

Then it was the boring work of course. The hunter dragged his prey off to a pit full of leaves, and then brought over some coolers full of ice. The hunter was no doctor but he knew enough to properly remove each valuable internal organ of the magical fiends, and store them in the ice.

There was of course the matter of his… well, his artwork. After one individual's organs were removed he grabbed his saw and with said saw removed the heads of each witch and warlock. Using pins and string he forced their faces into happy little rictuses of death, mounting them upon a broken-off rib in a pretty circle. All in all it was a productive morning between this piece that would inevitably send a message to the witches and warlocks related to the family, while the organs now in coolers would create a fairly large payoff. Valentin started sawing at the arms of fiends such that he could get them to hold hands one last time, alas it wouldn’t be.

A howl was heard, which Valentin ignored momentarily until his brain caught up to his ears telling the body that wolves weren’t supposed to howl at this time, and anyway there weren’t many real wolves in these woods.


Dropping the saw he raised his carbine, looking around. Well, it was only one howl for now. Likely just a “lone wolf” that overheard the shooting and cries of pain from afar. Valentin decided he’d been here far too long as was, and slinging his rifle picked up his cooler before starting to run towards his car; the circle of “happy” heads would suffice for now he reckoned, better not as impressive of an art project than him losing his own life. Live to express creativity another day! — that was his motto.

Alas there was another howl this time to his left, followed by two to his right. He sprinted now, but another howl was in front of him. He looked down, and saw the pistols under either armpit that had not yet fired a shot. They would not save him from so many wolves in one place, oh no. He’d take a few with him, but no more. Dropping the cooler he made a gambit pointing to the largest, most impressive looking wolf among them before spreading his arms wide, hoping they did not notice the secret weapon he had just mounted.

“Come puppy, surely you don’t need a whole pack to take me on? Or are you scared you won’t survive without them? Fight me, alone. Give me an honourable death at least, surely you know of that.” He really hoped it would extend to him the courtesy he wasn't particularly sure he would extend to one of its kind.

This had not worked so far it seemed, with the other wolves closing the distance to him. As a last ditch he made squawking noises to imitate a chicken, and strangely (but thankfully) this worked. The beast waved away its comrades, and started circling Valentin who remained standing with either arm outstretched. He had but a fraction of a second to hit the deck as the animal pounced, and once more a fraction of a second to bring himself upright. He side-stepped one swipe of its claws, ducked under another and tried to jump over a third; he wasn’t fast enough and the struck sent him airborne. Oh it hurt, but he couldn’t show weakness. He stood up, yet again spreading his arms wide. “Is that all?” he demanded. “Weak! Pitiful!”

The creature this time roared, and charged. Behind his face-shield Valentin smiled, swinging a ham-sized fist in a haymaker that connected with a beautiful crunch noise as it crushed the snout of the monster. Valentin was a large, muscular man. But that was not was made his strikes as if a sledgehammer to the beast; upon his fists were silver-plated and gently spiked knuckledusters carefully designed to do exactly this.

Now even if the hunter did flatten the vile fiend’s face it was still a weighty monster of many kilograms flying at him and it landed heavily, sending Valentin to the ground. He had to act fast before it recovered, striking it in the throat and stomach to get the wind out of it. Straddling it and bringing down successive punches on its head until there was a red, pulpy mess before him, Valentin eventually finished what he started.

Standing up the hunter brushed himself off, drawing either pistol. The black he was wearing hid the great amount of blood dripping from him brought on by the thrashes of the monstrosity but no doubt they could smell it coming off of him. Nevertheless, he hoped that the death would intimidate them… or failing that, he hoped the pack had the honour of their master to leave the man who won fair and square. Keeping both firearms upraised and picking up the cooler Valentin slowly walked to his car making sure he never took his gaze away from one of the wolves for more than a second. When there were only a few dozen metres left to his car Valentin sprinted with the great second wind that those in fear always had. Finally inside his car the hunter breathed a sigh of relief, closing his eyes and giving a quick prayer to whoever might be listening. Opening them, he muttered “Oh shit.” as he noticed that there was a young man walking his dog walking by, and said young man saw him bloody, armoured, and bearing two pistols.

The pedal went to the metal, and violating the local speed limit the hunter went home to lick his wounds. The weekend had not began as he hoped it would. But hey, he had a pay-check on his lap and a message left in the woods for the practitioners of witch-craft. No pain, no gain, the proverb went, right? Well, on that note if he was speeding, then there wouldn't be much harm in texting while doing so; he made sure to inform appropriate parties that there were a good deal of organs up for sale.
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